


Knight in Spying Armor

by call_lightning



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Houston Spies (Blaseball Team), Lovers we're so sorry, Season 12 Election Results, The Undisclosed Location
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_lightning/pseuds/call_lightning
Summary: Standing at the entrance to the conference room, a gleaming suit of armor with an immaculate pink uniform and large sword strapped to their side gives the assembled group a light wave. They can’t see their face under the helmet, but all of them get the impression nevertheless that they are giving the entire room a winning smile.“Good day, Houston Spies,” says Knight Triumphant, noted captain of the Lovers andextremelyunauthorized visitor to the Undisclosed Location. “I believe that I am here to help.”The Houston Spies gather to watch the Election results, and get an unexpected surprise.
Kudos: 10





	Knight in Spying Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Well. That, uhhhh, sure was an election, huh? It was so surprising that I'm actually out here writing fic for Blaseball, of all things. Lovers, we promise we'll take good care of Knight. Here's to a [redacted] season 13!

After years of waiting, countless missions, and a truly incredible amount of coffee, it’s Election Day once again at the Undisclosed Location. 

The Spies are gathered in one of their conference rooms, either lounging or working, talking amongst themselves about the latest season, several of them bemoaning the fact that they had to miss the seasonal party to return to their base. Alex flips through a playbook as they wait, tuning most of them out as they drink their cold brew and focus, drumming their fingers on the table in anticipation. 

After a period of time, results finally start flashing across several of the screens: both official releases from the Blaseball Commissioner, as well as coded missives pouring in from their various field agents. 

“Oh dear,” Malik says, glancing up from the sandwiches xe had been assembling, looking worried at the announcements. “Poor Nagomi, that’s horrible luck.”

Fitz is across the room, having a quiet conversation through a communicator. They hold up a finger at the group for them to wait, listening intently. Math stands next to them, entranced with a nearby screen scrolling through the latest statistics changes, flashing numbers faster than most of them could keep up with. 

It’s no surprise to anyone that Math loves Election Day more than the rest of the team combined. 

Fitz covers the mouthpiece of the communicator, looking up at them all. “Agent Games informs me that the Tacos have received a new Shadowed teammate,” they announce. “They will keep us updated on their performance and any descriptions on the current state of the Shadows.” 

“Do you think the new player might know Donia?” Morrow asks, looking hopeful. 

“Unclear for now,” Fitz replies. “Hopefully Agent Games will be able to get more information out of them once the team has completed the celebratory welcoming feast. They were...not specific on how _long_ that feast will last, though. It’s the Tacos.” 

“Oh, I bet they have! I just know it! Hey, I bet Donia-”

Morrow suddenly cuts off mid-sentence as if they were choking, reeling back and grabbing their head. A red light on one of the smaller screens begins to blink insistently, followed shortly after by an alarm bell ringing. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Son asks, pausing their Mlario Klart game against Sosa. “Which one is that alarm? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”

“It looks like it’s around the same frequency as Feedback,” Jordan says, tapping a few buttons. “But something’s fishy, I can’t quite-”

“Morrow?” Alex asks. They stand up from the table after noticing their friend’s predicament, looking concerned. “Is something wrong?” 

Morrow doesn’t respond to Alex’s question. They are holding their head more insistently, eyes screwed shut, almost sinking down to their knees from the pressure. Comfort quickly rushes over to steady them, but before they can touch Morrow, their arms close around empty air as their teammate vanishes with nothing but a small _pop._

What follows is a short outburst of pandemonium as the Spies react to Morrow’s disappearance. Both Son and Sosa shout in surprise, dropping their controllers. Comfort swings their arms around in the air, insisting that Morrow had just “TURNED INVISIBLE, DEFINITELY PROBABLY.” Teddy immediately shifts into their full bear form from the shock. Even Denzel’s peanut, which had been resting in the corner of the conference room, gives a small rattle. 

Alex looks up at Fitz, who mirrors their shocked expression. “Games,” Fitz says slowly into the communicator, “I’m going to have to call you back.” 

Alex whips around to look at Jordan, who is still at the main screen system. “Can you get a read on Morrow’s tracker?” 

Jordan’s machinery trembles a little as they type Morrow’s name and identifying number into the agency’s scanner, then gasps in surprise. 

“They’re not in the Shadows too, are they?” Marco asks, voice shaky. The space around them begins to glow slightly. 

“No,” Jordan says, peering at the screen. “They’re in...well, it looks like they’re in San Francisco.” 

The confused chorus of voices that rises up at that revelation is cut short again by the alarm starting up once more, the same light beginning to blink, but even faster this time. 

“No,” Karato says, gripping the table. “No, not again, this is too soon, they can’t take more than one of us! It’s only the first season back!”

The Spies all collectively tense up, each of them expecting to disappear from existence at any second. After a few seconds, the alarm shuts off. Everyone remains where they are. No one else vanishes. 

The team stands there, still frozen in shock, until a small, metallic clanking noise comes from the doorway. The Spies all turn in unison. 

Standing at the entrance to the conference room, a gleaming suit of armor with an immaculate pink uniform and large sword strapped to their side gives the assembled group a light wave. They can’t see their face under the helmet, but all of them get the impression nevertheless that they are giving the entire room a winning smile. 

“Good day, Houston Spies,” says Knight Triumphant, noted captain of the Lovers and _extremely_ unauthorized visitor to the Undisclosed Location. “I believe that I am here to help.” 

—

“So, go over that again, one more time,” Marco says.

“No funny business, either, see?” Jordan adds. 

The Spies are seated around the conference table, all gathered on one side while Knight sits at the other, looking bemused. Well, okay, most of them are seated at the table. Marco is hovering slightly in the air, and Son is perched on Comfort’s shoulders, looking intrigued. In the corner of the room, Teddy is supporting Sosa as he lurches around, attempting to balance his new growth spurt from the elections while Math follows him around with the statistics screen, gleefully displaying Sosa’s new numbers. 

Malik slides a sandwich and an espresso across the table to Knight, who nods gratefully. 

“I am not going to say that I am familiar with all of the intricacies of these elections, because I am not,” Knight says. “All I can tell you is that one moment I was in the Polyhedron with my team, when I heard a voice inside my helmet asking me if I would be amenable towards assisting the fine players of Houston. I agreed, of course. Chivalry means extending help to whoever needs it the most. Then, I suddenly found myself here, in your fair Location.” 

“But...did you know that Morrow was going to replace you?” Son asks. Their normal eyes blink off of their face and are replaced by large emotional ones, threatening to spill tears. Comfort pats them on their knee and passes them a juice box. 

“I did not, Squire Son,” Knight replies gently. “The voice mentioned not your Agent Wilson, simply that you needed my presence.” 

“They’re telling the truth,” Marco announces, gazing at some runes glowing in the air around them. 

“The system can’t detect any Feedback residuals around them either,” Reese says, glancing back at their screens. 

Alex gives Fitz and Karato a look. “You don’t think it was... _her,_ do you?” 

Fitz frowns. “The new Boss? Not sure. Our missions to determine her origins are still turning up next to nothing.” 

“Jack squat,” Jordan agrees. “Nil, nothing, nada, zilch.” 

“You don’t think it was someone else in the Agency, do you?” Karato asks. 

Alex’s mouth forms a thin, grim line. “Command has instigated changes without our knowledge before. It’s a possibility.”

“Whatever the cause was,” Knight says, “I believe this could be beneficial. For all of us. I am happy to offer any of my talents to the good players of Houston for the season, and, in return...well, there are a few things that I have long been questing for that I do believe you could assist me with. If you are amenable, that is.” 

“A fair exchange,” Fitz murmurs, tapping their chin. “I like the sound of that.” They turn to the assembled Spies. “I know that this is a little redundant, considering the nature of Knight’s addition to the team, but, on principle, we should vote. All in favor of adding Knight as a Spy?”

Comfort’s hand is the first to shoot up, followed by the rest of their teammates at the table. Son raises their hand holding the juice box. Sosa raises his hand in the corner, then nearly tips over once again until Teddy grabs him with a stuffed arm, raising the other one in favor. Math projects a graph with a curving upward trend. In the corner, a faint, echoing beeping noise comes from Denzel’s shell. 

“Well, I guess we can’t argue with that,” Alex says, surveying everyone. They stand, and hold out a hand to Knight for them to shake. “Welcome to the Spies, Agent Triumphant.” 

Knight lifts Alex’s hand with their gauntleted one to their helmet, pressing a genteel kiss to the back of their hand. “It is an honor to join a respected team such as your own, my dear. I do hope that I can make you all proud.” 

Alex’s eyes widen slightly as Knight lets go of their hand, and they shove it immediately in their trench coat pocket. “Uh, well...yes. Thank you. We’re, um, glad to have you.” 

“ALEX,” Comfort says, much too loudly, next to them. “WHAT IS THAT RED COLOR ON YOUR FACE? ARE YOU SICK?” 

“Yeah, Alex, are you okay?” Son asks, tugging on the collar of Alex’s coat. “The last time I saw you look like that was when Jessica Telephone-”

“-I think we’ve all had a very long day,” Fitz speaks up, quickly. “It might be time for some of us to get some rest.” 

The Spies murmur their assent as they file out of the conference room, Sosa ducking a little to keep from hitting his head on the door frame, with Malik and Karato leaving last as they help roll Denzel’s shell out of the room. Knight gives them all another kind wave and a bow as Son cheerfully takes their hand to escort them to their new living quarters. 

Eventually, only Math, Alex, and Fitz are left in the conference room. Math finally draws away from the screen flashing statistics, and projects several algorithms that the Spies have all learned to interpret as “pleased.” 

“Well. I’m glad one of us was having fun,” Alex says, groaning. They drop their head onto the table with a thunk. Math gives them an encouraging pat on the back. 

“Barring the obvious fact that there’s a potential rogue agent at play here, I think this could be good for us,” Fitz comments, crossing their arms thoughtfully. “Knight’s a strong player, and their charisma is a promising sign for field operations.” 

“Their charisma’s what I’m worried about,” Alex mutters. Their head is still resting on the table, the wood slightly muffling their statement. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. The Lovers have charmed half the League at this point, right? They even got _Math_ that one time. It’s what they do.” 

Math displays a particular graph that they all interpret as “annoyed.” Fitz looks amused. 

“Think about how useful they can be for us. Think about the morale boost they can bring to the team.” 

“Not Morrow, though.” 

“Morrow...might have needed a bit of a break from missions anyway,” Fitz admits. Their wispy outline of a jaw moves in a tight grimace. “Maybe their time in San Francisco will be revitalizing for them, too.” 

Alex pauses, then sighs. “You’re probably right. Damn you.” 

“Look on the bright side,” Fitz says. “You’ll finally have someone competent to sword fight with for a while.” 

They are answered by Alex’s head smacking back down onto the table despondently. “Don’t remind me about the _sword_. I haven’t seen that nice of a weapon since Jessica…” They snap their mouth shut, refusing to finish the sentence. 

Math makes a whirring sound that they both accept as a form of laughter. 

“Look, we agree that they’re only here for this season, though, right?” Alex asks, pointedly ignoring Math, while their face is squished against their playbook. “I can’t expect the Lovers will be too pleased that their captain’s been replaced.” 

“We should get in contact with them through Agent Wilson tomorrow,” Fitz agrees. “Let them know that this isn’t a scheme, at least, on our players’ part. I know we don’t typically express such clarity to the other teams, but in this case, I feel it’s necessary.” 

“Shame about Plasma, though.” 

“Yes, it is.” Fitz frowns. “We’ll probably have to reach out to New York as well at some point. There’s something stronger at play here. I’m not sure what yet, but it’s enough to worry me a bit.” 

Math flickers through some more algorithms and Fitz snorts. “I know, I don’t say that often. Thanks for reminding me.” 

Alex lifts up their head, rubbing at a temple. “There’s definitely a significant number of problems here. Ugh.” 

Math blinks. 

“That wasn’t a pun, Math.” 

Fitz chuckles, clapping a hand on Alex’s shoulder in support. “Chin up, Agent,” they say. “Solving problems is what we do. We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

Math projects a rotating infinity sign in agreement. Alex’s concerned expression wavers, hesitates, and then finally breaks into a small smile at their friends.

“Yeah. Together. That’s what we do.” 


End file.
